


there is nothing festive about demons

by mywordsflyup



Series: roommate au [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Concept Art Solas, Deaf Character, Established Relationship, Fluff, Multi, Polyamory, Satinalia, Sign Language, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, also ghost adventures, because zak bagans, that are made with love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5515820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently there's such a thing as a Ghost Adventures Satinalia Special. Bull is not impressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there is nothing festive about demons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Byacolate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/gifts).



> merry christmas, b. <3

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Bull lets the door fall shut behind him and both Oliv and Solas almost jump from their seats - Oliv being spooked by the sudden noise and Solas by the way she basically climbs onto his lap. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” 

At least Solas has the decency to look adequately ashamed about the whole thing. Oliv, on the other hand, settles back into the couch cushions and looks as smug as ever. “It’s the Satinalia special,” she says. Bull doesn’t miss the way she casually pulls the remote close and then stuffs it in the space between her thigh and the arm rest. Just in case. 

“Why in the world would a ghost hunting show need a Satinalia special?” He drops his gym bag in its usual spot next to the door. “There is nothing festive about demons!” 

Solas snorts and points towards the TV, the image frozen on Zak Bagan’s face and a subtitle that simply reads _Dude_. “This man seems to be of a different opinion,” he signs. “He has proclaimed this be his best Satinalia in years several times over the last 30 minutes.” 

“This man?,” Oliv repeats Solas’ sign with mock-outrage. “Don’t pretend you don’t know his name. You have watched nearly every episode with me over the last few weeks! I recorded the special just so I could wait for you to get home from the library, you ungrateful little...”

Solas shrugs, his face a mask of complete and utter innocence. 

“Shameful, Solas.” Bull shakes his head. “Shameful.” 

“You should watch it with us,” Oliv signs and pats the spot on the couch next to her. “It’s not that scary, I swear!”

“That’s what you said last time and then that fucking demon clown’s _hand moved_.” 

“Oh, come on! That was nothing. And this is even more harmless. It’s about this haunted Satinalia festival in the Anderfels. Every year for the last four decades one of the festival’s visitors died under mysterious circumstances.” 

“They think it might be connected to lost souls from the Fourth Blight,” Solas signs and looks absolutely unconvinced. 

“Zak Bagans speaks Ander?” 

“You’d think that would be necessary in this case, yes.” Solas’ mouth curves into an appraising smile. “He seems to be of a different opinion.” 

Oliv laughs. “He’s been mostly yelling at them in Common.” 

“Figures. I still have nightmares about his attempts at Qunlat.” 

“In his defense, Qunlat is a barbaric language.” Solas softens his words with a smile that is miles too sweet. 

“I recall you happen to quite enjoy a lot of our barbaric ways.” 

Solas smile turns a little wicked. “Some.” 

Bull’s eyes flick back to the TV and he considers it for a moment. “I could watch it with you. But I thought you might be more interested in the presents Krem gave me for you.” 

Oliv brings her hand to her chest in mock-outrage. “Is this blackmail?” 

“A suggestion.” Bull grins. “Simple cause and effect.” 

She shakes her head. “Zak Bagans would be so disappointed in you.” 

“I don’t think Zak Bagans comprehends the concept of cause and effect,” Solas signs and is already getting out of his seat. 

“Cruel. But probably true.” Oliv climbs over the back of the couch. 

There were three sweaters - one for each of them. All beautifully knitted by Krem himself and all with different Satinalia motives ranging from tastefully discreet (for Solas) to ridiculously elaborate (for Bull).

“Apparently it took him ages to make these,” Bull signs after spreading them out on the kitchen table. “And he expects us to wear them to the party tonight. Otherwise he won’t let us in.” 

Oliv pulls the smallest sweater closer to her. “They are horrific.” She runs her fingers over the little snowflakes around the collar. “I love them. I can’t believe he actually put the Satinalia Bronto on mine.” 

“I hope you weren’t messing with him when you told him that story.” 

She grins. “What? The old dwarven tale of a white bronto bringing presents to little dwarf children on Satinalia eve? Why would I joke about something like that? It’s a cherished tradition!” 

“See? You grinning like that doesn’t help.” 

Instead of answering, she puts on the sweater. “I’m never taking it off. How is it so soft?”

“Some fancy Orlesian wool apparently.” Bull tries to pull his own sweater over his head but it immediately catches on one of his horns. Solas makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat and steps up to help him. 

“He made the neckline wider and put buttons on it so this wouldn’t happen,” he signs after freeing Bull and reaches up to fasten them. “You are too impatient.” He rest his hands against Bull’s chest. Bull is sure he is trying for a reprimanding look but he only manages to look terribly fond. Before he can step back, Bull put his hand on the small of Solas’ back and pulls him in for a kiss. 

It’s far too quick and over too soon when Solas twists himself out of Bull’s embrace with a grin and Bull makes a disappointed sound. He tugs on Solas’s shirt. “Take it off.” 

One side of Solas’ lips quirks up in that way that always makes something pull tight in Bull’s stomach. “So I can try on the sweater,” Solas signs. 

“Sure. The sweater.” 

Solas slowly begins to open the buttons of his shirt, revealing more and more of his smooth dark skin - never breaking eye contact or losing that blighted smile of his. Bull leans back against the table, his thoughts turning fuzzy in the best possible way. Oliv’s laugh from the other end of the table is low and pleasant. She must be signing something behind Bull’s back because Solas’s grin grows wider.

“You underestimate me,” he signs. “And we still have time before we need to leave.” 

“So this is where this is going?” Not that Bull has any objections. 

Oliv steps next to him, fitting into his side like she was always meant to be there. “I have mentioned that I won’t be taking off this sweater, right?” 

“You forget how persuasive we can be,” Solas signs before taking Bull’s hand and letting himself be drawn close. 

 

In the end, they get her out of the sweater - with kisses and touches and mentioning that Krem would probably be horrified if he found out that the Satinalia Bronco was there to witness it all. 

Afterwards, lying in Bull’s large bed under the dragon Solas painted on his wall and the string of fairy lights Oliv wrapped around the metal bars of the headboard, all three of them are altogether too content to even think about getting up and ready for Krem’s party. 

Oliv is close to drifting off to sleep, her head growing heavy in the crook of Bull’s arm. He gently pulls free when he notices Solas reaching for the notepad on the nightstand. It’s an awkward angle that leaves him sprawling across the sheets and in any other instance Bull would have appreciated the view. But when Solas gets a little too close to the edge in his endeavor, Bull snakes an arm around his waist and pulls him back. 

“Please tell me you are not writing a review,” he signs. “Although if you are, I know some pretty good adverbs to describe my performance.” His smirk only widens when he sees Solas roll his eyes. He is sitting cross legged in front of him now, completely naked and not self-conscious at all. Two things Bull greatly appreciates in a lover. The notepad is propped up against one knee. 

“You said something I could not lipread.” As always, Solas’ hands move much more fluently and elegantly than Bull’s own. Even after Bull and Oliv’s combined efforts to wear him out. “It was Qunlat, I presume.”

Bull tries to think back on what he said. “Was that when I did that thing you like? With my thumb? Or right there at the end when I took your hips and really went for…”

Oliv snorts, woken up by Solas crawling all over the bed and watches them from her spot under the covers. She props herself up and leans against Bull’s shoulder. 

“Well, it couldn’t have been when I was sitting on his face because he wasn’t able to see anything then,” she says and in absence of her prosthetic arm, Bull signs the translation for her. 

Completely unimpressed, Solas hands Bull the notepad and the pen, no explanation necessary. Not quite being able to hide his grin, Bull notes down the Qunlat expressions and provides an approximate translation in Common. Oliv, reading over his shoulder, starts laughing. When Bull hands back the notepad, Solas’ eyes flit over the page and the tips of his ears grow a shade darker. 

“Colorful.”

“Oh, not so barbaric then?” 

Solas smiles with just the slightest edge to it and shrugs. “Perhaps a bit of both.”

**Author's Note:**

> Olivin Cadash belongs to Byacolate.
> 
> You can also follow my [tumblr](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com) if you're interested.


End file.
